Sergeant Carter's lungs burned intensely as he ran and stumbled his way through the dense, snow-covered forest, narrowly dodging the closely-packed evergreens. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the German soldier was still following him, looking more at ease in the winter weather than the young American. Not once did the German call out to him—he just kept following him, and had been ever since Carter delivered a bundle of explosives to an Underground contact in nearby Hammelburg. What did he want? He wasn't behaving threateningly, and he was completely alone. He wasn't dressed like the SS or Gestapo, but rather in the uniform of a Wehrmacht private.

Carter was getting close to the tree stump that led down into the tunnels under Stalag 13. He couldn't lead the German to them. Without pausing, he turned to head further into the woods, away from the camp, wondering if he could lose the soldier.

Nope. The German was still behind him, and getting closer. I can't stay out here all night, Carter thought. He knew the woods around Stalag 13 by heart, but the weather was supposed to deteriorate sharply after midnight. It was going to get colder. Ice had formed and weighing down the already snow-laden branches of the evergreens around him. More snow was due. It was certainly going to be a white Christmas that year.

He stopped and ducked behind a tree with a thick trunk, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Okay, okay, think, Andrew! You gotta lose this guy somehow!

Carter nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a gloved hand take his shoulder. He scrambled for his sidearm, but the German took hold of his wrists. The young man's face was incredibly pale. It almost matched the snow around them. His eyes were a bright, ice-blue color. Carter could feel the German's breath on him, and his breath was cold, like Carter had stepped into an icebox.

"What do you want?" Carter asked, keeping his voice calm.

The German didn't respond, not verbally. He held a finger to his lips, then reached into one of his pockets on his greatcoat, from which he pulled out a small sheet of paper. Only one word was written on the paper, and that word was "Help," in English.

Carter gave the German a confused look. "Help? Help with what?"

No response. The man continued to stare. Occasionally, he would blink and look around. He seemed determined not to talk. Or, perhaps he couldn't.

Carter sighed. This probably wouldn't be the strangest thing he and the other prisoners of Stalag 13 have had to deal with. "Alright. If you want help, come with me."

The German nodded, and trailed close behind Carter as they headed to the tree stump. He seemed curious when Carter opened the top of the stump, and climbed in when Carter gestured for him to.

"Carter!" Sergeant Kinchloe hissed. "Where were you? We were—" His eyes widened when he saw the pale German soldier. "Who's this?"

"I don't know. Get the colonel. This guy was following me and has a little paper that says 'help' on it," Carter replied. "He won't talk. Not a single word."

In an open space underground, the German soldier was seated while Colonel Hogan paced around him, the rest of the team nearby. Hogan had asked the German a few questions, but got no response. Giving a frustrated sigh, Hogan paused in front of the soldier, folding his arms over his chest. "Carter, go get Wilson, have him take a look at our guest."

"Right, Colonel." Carter headed up a ladder into the barracks.

Hogan locked eyes with the German. "You do realize we cannot help you unless you answer us, right? Now, what is your name? Why did you follow Carter?"

The German looked increasingly uncomfortable with five pairs of eyes on him. Finally, he answered in heavily-accented English, "Lechner. M-My name is… Private Lechner."

"Okay, we're getting somewhere. Why did you follow Carter?"

"Underground. You help people… escape Germany, yes?"

"Among other things."

"I want to escape. Flee. I… I am no longer welcome."

Carter returned with the prisoners' medic, Sergeant Wilson. The older man had hardly taken a step toward Lechner when he said, "I have never seen a human being that pale before."

Lechner looked down at his boots.

Opening his bag of supplies, Wilson approached Lechner. "Are you feeling alright? Any pain or injuries?"

"No," Lechner said, softly.

"I'm still gonna look you over, just in case. You're in good hands here with Hogan."

The men watched as Wilson did his work. Throughout the examination, Lechner looked more and more uncomfortable, even as Wilson reassured him over and over, that he was completely safe.

At some point, Wilson murmured, "I just used this thermometer. There's no way it's busted."

"What is it, Wilson?" Hogan asked.

Wilson gave a heavy sigh before taking the thermometer out of Lechner's mouth. "You're not gonna believe this, but Lechner's temperature isn't even eighty degrees. He should be dead, but he's not showing any signs of hypothermia. He's completely healthy, except for this."

"Maybe the thermometer is busted. We'll get a new one."

"Sir, look at him. He looks like he was born and raised in the North Pole."

"His breath was cold when he caught up to me, Colonel," Carter said.

Hogan raised an eyebrow. "So, what does this mean?"

Wilson took a deep breath. "Well, sir, I think it means… Lechner is something supernatural. Magical, perhaps. I think that's why he wants to get out of Germany."

Lechner looked like he was about to cry. "Yes. Please."

"Magic?" Hogan said.

"Yes. He's an ice-variant of the magic people known as Conjurus. I had to take classes on how to treat them when I entered medical school." Wilson glanced around the room. "You know what they are, right?"

"I met several in Detroit," Kinchloe said. "An electric one worked at the same phone company I did. Quiet fella, but nice. I once asked how he didn't blow the whole switchboard and he said it was because 'our powers don't just go off randomly.' They train to keep their abilities under control when they turn thirteen."

"They are all over London," Newkirk said. "Witches, too. I once tried putting my hands in a witch's purse and was cursed with being deaf and mute for an entire day. Mum wasn't exactly pleased with me."

"I can imagine," LeBeau replied. "In a big city like Paris, you'll find mostly Conjurus, but you wouldn't know it unless you looked and asked. They keep to themselves but they're a really nice people."

"I didn't really know about the Conjurus until joining the Army Air Corps," Carter said. "Where I came from, witches weren't just boogeymen to scare kids—they're actually really dangerous. I remember every kid in my neighborhood was told not to be out on Halloween after sunset."

"I know Conjurus were banned from putting their names in the draft," Hogan said. "There was concern about them being captured and used by an enemy power." He looked at Lechner. "I guess those claims weren't unfounded."

Lechner nodded a little. "It is not safe for my people here," he whispered.

"We need to find out where you came from first," Hogan said. "Did you desert your unit? They're going to be looking for you, and we can't have them sniffing around here."

Lechner refused to answer. Instead, he drew his legs up, and covered his head.

"Colonel, I think we should give him a little space," Kinchloe suggested. "Maybe talk to him in the morning."

"Alright. We'll fix him up with a place to sleep and keep trying tomorrow."

Carter hung back as the rest of his team headed back up into the barracks. Nervously, he approached Lechner, and touched his shoulder. The German recoiled intensely, then opened his eyes to see Carter.

"You'll be alright, buddy. The colonel knows what he's doing. Just… trust us, okay?"

No response. Lechner resumed covering his face and tucking his head in his knees.

The warm and fruity scent of tea filled the small room, where a tall, square-jawed man dressed in a black SS uniform was leaning over a large map of the Bavarian region of Germany. Several towns and cities had been circled, only to be crossed out later. Just a few were still circled without being crossed out, one of which was the unassuming town of Hammelburg in the furthest northwest corner of Bavaria.

SS-Hauptsturmführer Kurt Veidt stepped into the room as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the taller man as he appeared deep in thought. It was late at night, though, and the weather was supposed to be quite terrible up until morning. Glancing around, Veidt cleared his throat. "I apologize for interrupting, but it is nearly midnight, sir."

Standartenführer Walther Kaschel looked up from the map. He straightened his back, then picked up his mug of tea to take a sip. "I am aware. I believe I am close to finding our missing subject." He beckoned for Veidt to stand next to him. "He was last spotted in the town of Fuchsstadt just a day ago, and I was contacted with information today that he was heading to Hammelburg."

"The patterns over the last few days seems to suggest he is heading northwest," Veidt replied.

"Exactly. The weather over the next several days will make him more difficult to track. I want to go to Hammelburg as soon as possible and recapture him."

"Perhaps we could simply let the local Gestapo catch him."

"They will not be prepared to handle him. However, I would like them alerted that we will be arriving tomorrow as early as possible."

"Even with the weather, sir?"

"Yes. Go on home and get some sleep."

Veidt nodded a little. "Right. Good night, sir." He saluted before leaving the room, heading down the dark hallway out to the main entrance. The snow had already started and was only going to get worse from then on. Veidt hurried with putting on his heavy jacket, and left the building, hugging himself as he trudged through the snow to his motorcycle, waiting next to the other officers' staff cars. He brushed the snow and ice off the trunk box, and replaced his cap with a helmet before swinging one leg over the bike.

Once he was out of the parking lot, he allowed himself to smile a bit despite the snow and ice stinging his face. He was glad that Kaschel was ordering him to accompany him to Hammelburg. It meant he could accomplish his own mission, but now he was left with the struggle of how to do it without Kaschel or anyone else figuring it out.

Carter jolted awake when he heard Sergeant Schultz shouting for everyone in the barracks to go outside for roll call. Naturally, the big guard was met with protests that it was too cold and that what he was doing was incredibly cruel.

Looking out the window, Carter could see that the camp was covered in a fresh, thick blanket of snow. Huge icicles hung down from every building in the complex, and there were guards marching around with shovels.

The residents of Barracks Two bundled up in their warmest clothing before heading outside, huddled close together. LeBeau was hopping up and down and rubbing his gloved hands together. "Today is a good day to make a nice, hearty soup," he said.

Carter nodded a little, but his thoughts were focused more on the young German soldier he found in the woods last night. When they were finished with roll call, he planned on going right down in the tunnels to see him. Hopefully Lechner would be a bit more open to talking, but Carter had a suspicion that wouldn't be the case.

Everyone looked miserable being out in the snow and cold, except Hogan, though he was visibly shivering. Colonel Klink especially looked upset at the fact that he had to be outside, so he made roll call quick, and let everyone go about their day—though he did demand a work party to dig out his staff car. Newkirk ended up volunteering himself after telling Klink to dig it out himself.

As soon as they returned to their barracks, LeBeau set to work making his soup, Kinchloe went underground to check for messages from London, and Carter followed, heading to the space where Lechner was staying. The German had been using his helmet as a headrest on the cot he was given. He looked up when Carter entered the room, and then set his head back down, covering it with the sheets.

"Hey, I'm not gonna hurt you," Carter said, softly, kneeling by the cot. "Just came to see how you were doing."

Lechner didn't respond at first. He thought about it hard for a moment, then said, "Fine."

"Did you sleep okay?"

Lechner nodded.

It was tempting to ask what his story was, how he got there, and what he was trying to escape, but Carter knew bombarding the young man with questions was just going to make him close himself off again. "You want something to eat?"

Another nod.

Carter smiled a little before dashing off back up into the barracks. "Hey, LeBeau! Do we have any leftover strudel?"

"I save that for Schultz! What do you want it for?" LeBeau asked, not looking up from his big soup pot.

"Lechner—our guest—wants food. Come on, I'll get you more apples if you want."

"Alright, alright. Take some. No more interruptions."

"Thanks." Carter's only regret was that the strudel wasn't fresh from the oven. It was wrapped in foil, ready to use next time they needed to bribe Schultz. Unwrapping the strudel, Carter headed back down into the tunnels, jogging to the room where Lechner was sitting up on his cot. He perked up at the sight of the pastry.

"I expected gruel," Lechner said.

"With a French chef? Never. Not unless he's angry," Carter replied. He handed the strudel to Lechner. "It's not fresh, but it's the best we've got."

"Honestly, I have not eaten much over the last few days. I appreciate it." Lechner sniffed the pastry before taking a generous bite. He chewed thoughtfully, then said, "It reminds me of Christmas Eve with my grandparents. For a French chef, he makes very good strudel."

"It's one of the guards' favorites, so he's gotten pretty good at making it, but he has said he'll never make German food again after the war."

Lechner gave a weak smile. "What is your name?"

"Oh, I-I'm Carter. Sergeant Andrew Carter."

"I think I should apologize for scaring you in the woods."

"It's okay. I just wish you had said something instead of, well, nothing."

"I was afraid I was being followed."

Carter bit his tongue, unsure if he should ask any questions about Lechner's past. Things were going good now, and he didn't want to ruin them. "I get it. We'll… We'll get you outta here, if that's what you want."

Lechner nodded a little.

"Just outta curiosity… how did you find out about us?"

"Someone recommended you to me. He knows the gentleman you gave those explosives to last night, so he had me wait until you made your delivery, and pointed me in your direction."

"I'm surprised they trusted you right off the bat."

"They did not. They only helped after I proved I was not a spy."

"How did you do that?"

Lechner didn't respond, looking away from Carter.

Carter cursed in his head. And things were going so well! He took a breath. "Sorry for asking. I-If you're not ready, then—"

"I wish to be left alone." Lechner turned his whole body away, and Carter knew he wasn't going to respond again, not for some time.

Nodding, Carter left. Prodding wasn't going to help. He headed back up into the barracks, seeing Hogan standing at the side of the bunk bed they used to get into the tunnels.

"Well? How did it go?" Hogan asked.

"With what?" Carter replied.

"With Lechner. Any information on where he came from?"

"No, Colonel. All he said was that he met up with someone who knows the guy we gave the bomb to last night. He talked for a little bit after I gave him some food, but nothing about where he came from or what his history is."

"That's better than nothing."

"Colonel… I think it'll be best if I keep trying to talk to Lechner. I don't think a conventional interrogation is gonna work. He's…" Carter gave a sigh, "He's obviously been spooked by something or someone."

"That much is obvious, but there's too much we don't know, and I'm not putting our operation at risk because we can't cover this kid's tracks. If you think you can get him to talk, go ahead."

"I'm just afraid it'll take too long."

"Just try. That's all I'm asking. I'm certainly not saying we're going to throw him back out into the cold, but I want this as smooth as possible. It'll be better for us and for him."

Carter nodded. "I'll do my best, Colonel."

Hammelburg was a winter wonderland as the staff car, adorned with tiny swastika flags and SS runes, made its way toward the small town. Veidt had only been there once, and it was a little over two years ago. As much as he didn't want to come back, he knew he had to. He would complete this mission, no matter what it took.

Kaschel took a sip of coffee from his thermos, and glanced over at Veidt as the younger officer gazed out the window. "Is everything alright? You have been rather… distant since we left Augsburg."

"Oh, yes. Everything is alright," Veidt replied, jolting from his thoughts. "It is just… it has been awhile since I have been here."

"I remember now; you were assigned to collect magic folk from prisoner-of-war camps."

Veidt nodded. "Stalag Thirteen, as I recall, was an anomaly. They had no magic folk, period. Their commandant did not even our mission was possible."

"I have heard Colonel Klink is, shall we say, a bit of a dim bulb."

"He was a bit high-strung and extremely eager to please."

Kaschel grunted. "I do not like 'eager to please.' It is dishonest and a show of a lack of confidence. I would not have had the patience to deal with this man." He let out a heavy sigh. "Unfortunately, we must deal with him when we arrive in Hammelburg."

"Why?"

"His guards frequent Hammelburg on leave. I want to know if he or any of them have seen our subject." Kaschel looked Veidt in the eye. "You will take over the talking if Klink becomes difficult. I cannot promise that I will keep myself composed."

"I understand, sir." Veidt pursed his lips, hoping that Klink didn't start blabbering in utter confusion and desperation like he did when confronted about magic folk at Stalag 13. Kaschel was very patient, but not when the person he was dealing with came across as a fool.

The gray clouds finally managed to part somewhat as they continued driving. The snow sparkled as the sun hit the fresh, untouched sheets that covered the countryside. The evergreens were heavily sagging, their branches almost flat against their trunks with the amount of snow that lay on them. Veidt imagined the black car stood out like a sore thumb against the pure white of the wilderness surrounding them. The only other thing that broke the monotonous color was a single deer running across one of the open fields before disappearing into the forest.

"We can only hope that the subject has not left Hammelburg," Kaschel said. "If he has, then surely someone saw which direction he was headed."

"I think it is safe to assume he will continue his pattern of heading northwest," Veidt replied.

"Yes, but if he has begun to suspect that we are after him, he may change course."

"True, sir."

"He will eventually have nowhere left to run. I do not see him crossing the English Channel on his own. His people are weakened in water, unless the Channel is at a particularly low temperature when he crosses."

"I doubt he would swim, sir."

"If he were desperate, he would. I think we will catch him before he gets that far."

"I hope so, too." Veidt resumed looking out the window.

Things fell silent between them as Kaschel continued drinking his coffee. Veidt could sense he was not looking forward to meeting Klink. Frankly, Veidt wasn't looking forward to seeing Klink again. He still vividly remembered intimidating him and taking advantage of his outwardly weak demeanor. It was obvious Klink didn't have the highest self-esteem, and Veidt had preyed on that, keeping the Luftwaffe colonel completely under his control and squeezing every bit of information out of him.

Veidt wished there was a way to banish the memories, but they would always be there, always taunt him. More often than not, it felt like he was looking into the thoughts of a completely different person, and he wondered why this other person's thoughts were in his head. He didn't like this other person, but they were stuck to each other permanently, because they were the same person.

He found himself wishing he hadn't undertaken this mission alone. He felt as though he was drifting in an open sea on a pitifully small raft, surrounded by the giant tentacles of a sea monster, a sea monster that resembled his past and memories.